Men
by Winged Cherry
Summary: Chelsea is visiting her parents in the weekend and asks Vaughn to do the laundry. But how many men do you need to do the laundry? Starring Vaughn and Denny. One-shot, third person perspective.


"Honey, I'll be visiting my parents this weekend. Do you mind feeding the animals until I come home?" She asked, pecking his cheek. He looked up from his newspaper.

"No problem. Tell your parents I said hi," Vaughn answered, before concentrating on the piece of paper in his hands again.

"Oh, and the laundry still needs to be done…" she mischievously eyed her husband.

"I'll take care of it. Now, shoo! You're gonna miss your train."

* * *

It was Sunday. Today, Chelsea would come home, expecting the laundry to be done. There was no time for postphoning doing the laundry anymore. He took a look at the pile of laundry and sighed, realising it was going to be a _long_ day.

He then carefully examined all the bottles on the washing machine and screwed off the tops to smell them. They all smelt like fresh laundry, he concluded satisfied. If you wash dirty laundry with liquids that smelt like fresh laundry, the laundry will always have to smell like fresh laundry after washing it, he logically reasoned.

Next, he inspected the washing machine itself. It had a lot of buttons. Vaughn didn't have a clue why. All a washing machine really needed was the 'on' button, right? He curiously pressed a button and deducted from the lack of sound the machine made it was currently turned off. He tested some more buttons, just to be certain. He read the clarifying text next to the buttons. There were several with a temperature indication. 30 Degrees Celsius, 40, 60, 75 and 95. Next to some other buttons there were scripts like 'Centrifuge 1400, 1200, 900' and 'Extra water'. Vaughn frowned and scratched the back of his head. He needed the assistance of an expert.

* * *

Surprised, Denny opened the door of his shack. It didn't happen often he had the pleasure of seeing the silvery haired man on his doorstep. "Hey, man. What can I do for you?" The fisherman curiously inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"I have some laundry issues," Vaughn confessed.

* * *

"So… Like, don't you have a manual or such for this thing?" Denny frowned.

"Probably. But I doubt we need it," Vaughn answered, studying the buttons.

"I think it's best we wash everything on 95 degrees Celsius."

"Why?"

"'Cause high temperature kills those microscopic thingies. I forgot what they're called." Vaughn pressed the 95 degree button, but the machine didn't respond.

"You sure the plug is plugged in?" Vaughn nodded and decided after several minutes he hadn't pressed the 'on' button yet. Just when he was about to press it, Denny stopped him.

"You forgot to put in the washing-powder." Vaughn shook his head.

"We haven't got any powder. We got bottles that smell like fresh laundry." Denny thought this over for a second.

"It's probably some sort of washing-powder dissolution," he concluded after carefully smelling the contents of the bottles.

"So which one do we use?" the fisherman asked.

"All of them, of course. Why would Chelsea have all those bottles if we only needed one?" Denny patted his friend on the back.

"You're a genius."

After stuffing in as much of the colourful laundry pile as they could possibly fit into the machine, they poured a bit of every bottle in it. Then they turned the devilish thing on, pressed the 95 degree Celsius button and a few random others. They nodded contently when the washing machine started to fill with water, making funny noises. When the machine finished, they took out the wet laundry and stuffed in the next load. They laid out the fresh laundry in the grass outside so it could dry in the sun.

"I didn't know you had these cute pink boxers," Denny snickered.

"I don't." Denny held up the piece of pink cleared his throat.

"I think something went wrong in that demonic washing thing," he groaned. It appeared they needed some more assistance. So they ran off with Vaughn's pretty pink boxers to get some more help.

* * *

Without even knocking, they stormed into the cabin of Will's boat. Will, who had been drinking tea, froze, the tea cup still hanging somewhere between the saucer and his mouth.

"Will, we need your expertise!" Denny exclaimed, revealing the boxers. Will uncomfortably cleared his throat.

"What do you need to know?"

"My boxers used to be white. Now we've washed them, they're pink. How on earth is such thing possible?" Vaughn questioned.

"It should not be possible in the first place," Will pondered.

"I suggest you call your wife," he finally said.

"But she's at her parents'! How much of a dumb ass will they think I am when they hear I can't even do the laundry?" Vaughn inquired. Will shrugged.

"Or you consult the washing machine's manual. Perhaps certain errors have occurred before."

* * *

Armed with Will's wise advice, they consulted the washing machine's manual. Not only did it clarify the remarkable change of colours, it also mentioned another problem that could occur when washing on 95 degrees Celsius. The men quickly hurried outside to check up on the laundry.

"I think your wife's are bigger than this," Denny held up a bra, confirming the problem they suspected there would be.

"You do realise you're not supposed to know my wife's cup size, do you?" Denny shrugged.

"It only convenient, in case you forget." Vaughn let it slide and inspected some more laundry. Everything seemed indeed a little smaller than it used to be. Or they were just seeing things because they were expecting to see them. The men started to feel awkward, realising how much they screwed up.

"Honey, I'm home! And… what are these pink boxers doing on the kitchen table?"

Like, _really_ awkward.

* * *

_So how many men do you need to do the laundry?_


End file.
